


Trust Me

by Nao



Series: The True Song [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonerys is mentioned, Neither of them know the truth yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 05:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17975624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nao/pseuds/Nao
Summary: Sansa tries to understand why Jon asked her to 'trust him' in the courtyard of Winterfell.





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, the image in my head is not quite what my fingers end up typing. I was trying to go for an explanation of why Sansa would begin to wear such an imposing dress (the one in the new promo pics), but I ended up with Jon and Sansa arguing about what the hell Jon was trying to accomplish by bending the knee. Comments are always welcome- even (kindly!) critical ones.

“Aye, I brought her, and said before Cersei Lannister and everyone else that I was her man and the North was a part of her realm.”

“And for what?” Sansa asked, keeping her voice cold.

“For the dragons.  For a chance, just barely, of making it through to the other side.  For the chance, that you and everyone else might survive to see the end of the Long Night come again,” Jon replied, sounding tired.  As though he’d said these words to her not once, but a thousand times over.  She wondered if he’d rehearsed this conversation in his mind, all the trip here.  

“That’s a lie,” she said finally.  

“It isn’t a lie.  You asked and I’m telling you the truth.”

“And the fact that you’ve been abed with her is of no importance?  That part is irrelevant?” Sansa drawled.  

“It’s not your business.  You are my sister.  Not my Septa,” Jon said, snapping the words.  His eyes narrowed.  

“You’re a damn fool if you think who you fuck is not my business.  You were the King in the North, and the last time a King in the North went South and fell into bed with a pretty foreigner, he and all his men perished!  My mother had her neck sawed to the bone!  All because he was a man who wouldn’t keep his cock to himself.”

“Seven Hells Sansa,” Jon breathed out.  He dragged a hand across his face.   

“We are already in hell Jon, and it’s all your fault. Why wouldn’t you listen to me?”

“I did listen!” Jon all but shouted the words.  “I sweet-talked her all the way here didn’t I?  I brought what we needed to win, didn’t I?  And if I didn’t think to what comes after, can you blame me?”

“She’s a Targaryen!  A Targaryen killed our grandfather, our Uncle, our Aunt!  All without a dragon. This one has two.  So I do blame you.  You never should’ve bent the knee.  You never should’ve left.  I should’ve been the one to go, clearly.  You’re a lovestruck fool who can’t see beyond the end of his nose.”  Sansa folded her arms together, pressed them into her body, trying to hold back the anger.  The fear that he was even more of a dunderhead than she’d realized. 

“You think I’m in love with her?  With her?  Sansa... I want you to live.  That’s all I want.  I don’t care about anything else.  I don’t care how angry you become, I don’t care if the lords put me on trial for being a traitor when all this is done, I don’t care if you and Arya and Bran never speak to me again.  She has men, she has dragons, and she has dragonglass.  She’s what we need to win.  Everything else can hang.”

The words hung in the air between them.  Sansa stared at him, desperate tired.  She didn’t want to listen to any more.  She turned half away from him, speaking more to the table than to his face.  

“Take yourself back your chamber Jon.  Or go and please your dragon.  I don’t care which.”

“Aye I’ll go please her, and you’ll live another day because I did.  Just like the blood price you paid to win back the North, this is the price I’ll pay to make sure you get to rule,” Jon replied.  

“I didn’t pay in blood to win back the North.  The Vale won back the North.”

“You paid it Sansa.  The Kingsguard, Joffrey, Cersei, Littlefinger, Tyrion, Ramsay... you paid it all, and here we stand.  I never learned the games you know how to play.  But I can do this one thing and even if they kill me for it, you’ll be safe.”

“Why are you so—,” Sansa couldn’t find the words.  Her stomach twisted.  

“So what?  Go on!  Say it.”

“I told you once that I wouldn’t go back to Ramsay alive.  That hasn’t changed Jon.  If my family is dead and gone, if  _you_  are dead and gone, I have no intention of remaining.  I won’t be used again.”

“Sansa, after how hard we’ve worked, do you realize how that sounds?”

“Then you should have listened to me when I said it the first time.  You should have paid attent—,” Jon grabbed her, pulling her close, vibrating with anger, eyes wild and staring.  Sansa fell silent, heart racing.   _This is Jon._   Long quiet moments passed and finally whatever it was that had overcome him seemed to pass.  He released her arms, hands trailing up to cradle her face between them.  “I don’t love her,” he said, low and urgent.

He pressed his lips to hers, lightly, teasingly, sweetly, and her heart jumped into her throat.  When he pulled away, an eon later, Sansa thought she might cry.  “But I may as well channel this,” and he let her go to gesture at himself and her, “into something that won’t dirty you.”  He backed away, eyes trained on hers.  He pulled open the door to the solar and finally turned away.  She shivered and staggered into a chair when he had pushed the door shut.  

Littlefinger had kissed her, the covetous devil.  Ramsay had saved his kisses for when he had something truly frightening planned.  Joffrey had sometimes looked like he wished to, and so had his uncle, Tyrion.  And now Jon.  Her brother.  She raised a hand to her lips, touching them.  She had liked it; that was the trouble.  She wanted him to do it again.  Until the only kiss she could remember was his.    

Burying her face in her hands, she wondered at their combined stupidity.  She never should have let him go.  She should’ve fought.   _And then sooner or later someone would’ve found you two kissing, touching, and that would’ve been that._   She could imagine Littlefinger convincing the lords that it was Jon who had led her astray, convincing them to marry her to Sweet Robin, or gods forbid, himself.  She could see them stripping Jon of his crown, and taking Winterfell for themselves.  All because of a kiss.  

Biting down hard on her lip, Sansa raised her head.  In the corner, where Jon had left it, lay a little chest full of dragonglass shards.  They shimmered, deep blue and black, in the light of the fire.  Rising, Sansa went over to it and sifted her hands through the pieces.  They were beautiful, no doubt that was why Jon had brought them for her, thinking she could find something to use them for.  And so she would.  She could see it already in her mind’s eye.  Blue for her mother’s family, and bastard black for Jon.  Her Stark grey cloak over it all, for her father.  Jon would have Daenerys in his bed, all aflame; Sansa was sure.  But by his side, untouchable and as cold as their Father’s greatsword, Ice, would be his sister.  


End file.
